Erestor is an obsessive-compulsive know-it-all! (_erestor_) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-11-13 14:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, alice ayres, erestor |
Who: Alice Ayres, Erestor
What: Meeting in a bookstore and Erestor is his usual stick-in-the-freakin'-mud Elf self.
Where: See above!
When: Yesterday.
Rating: It's Erestor so it's totally PGish
Status: Complete!
Now that she had extra pocket money, Alice Ayres was going to spend it on the thing she liked most - her books. She was in a used bookstore that seemed to not have any cataloging system, running her fingers over worn spines and waiting for one of them to tell her that she had to own it.
She was petite by anyone’s standards at 5’3”, but the fact that she wore a huge knit cardigan over her t-shirt and jeans made her look even smaller. That and her feet were curled into flats. She looked every bit the waif she was.
There was another waifish sort in the bookstore, wearing a black cardigan over a white shirt, and black pants. His dark hair hung over his face as he was looking over an incredibly old, stinky, crumbling book by a Dutch scholar and manuscript collector, that was rather expensive. He was handling it with such care, that it looked as though he was used to being gentle with aged objects. And, in a way, he was very well-versed in reading old things, as he kept having dreams that he was an incredibly old individual with an incredibly youthful visage. The same as when he looked in the mirror now, and wondered, idly to himself, if this meant he would be able to watch himself grow old with the fascination of one who is used to noting every detail or minute change in their surroundings, and if it would drive him insane, from being unable to improve that situation somehow.
No. Erestor's brows knit together as he continued staring at the words on the page, telling himself that there had to be a reasonable explanation for the dreams, and he should be looking into dream dictionaries to unravel the mystery of it all, and come to rational conclusions. As that is what he did in another world in his dreams, and it was what he did all his life, in this world.
So if there was a girl approaching this studious fellow? He might need an anvil dropped on him so he takes notice beyond the book his nose is shoved into, and troubling thoughts.
She didn’t approach him on purpose; instead she was tiptoeing up to pull down a copy of Baudelaire’s poetry when five other heavy volumes of text came down and clattered to the floor. One hit her head, making her wince as it hit her eye. “Son of a - “ she murmured, trying to keep her voice down. She saw someone reading out of the corner of her eye. “Sorry, sorry, French poets are attacking me.”
It was hard to ignore the clamor of French poets on the attack. Erestor's eyes were peeking up over the top of the book, blinkingly, before he could be heard saying, "They were oft prone to assault ladies with unnecessary overtures using incredibly floral wording. That's why they're best avoided."
He had too many instances of listening to fellow Elves who fancied themselves poets, in the Hall of Fire. That's why he had taken to copious amounts of Elven cordials and trying to sneak books to the table in his robe, so he had something to do if anyone decided they wanted to be - and here is where he would use air quotes - "entertaining."
"This store is lacking a ordering system. It hardly matters where they're shoved back on the shelves, as long as they're placed there and not left on the floor for patrons to trip over. It's troubling and deeply saddening to me that they are so neglectful of their organizational skills."
He supposed he should move to help. Because the books - even if what they contained - were still books, and that made them something of value for containing the written word. Even if the words were frivolous nonsense.
Alice had crouched down to pick up the books, adding one of them to her selected choice and setting it aside. The other ones she was trying to put back, but his comment made her giggle out loud. Alice had a hearty, silly, unassuming laugh and it echoed for a moment after she’d stopped. “I just want to read them, not flirt with them!” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I’d want to date a poet or a philosopher. All that looking inward must make them terrible to be with.”
"Flirting with someone whose ideals are too lofty and who loves romance merely for romance's sake only, would be an exercise in futility and result in disappointment," stated Erestor, like he was reading from an encyclopedia, which contained actual facts and not hearsay or conjecture. He had set his own book aside and bent down to pick up some of the books, with the greatest of care. "Furthermore, I would imagine that they likely lack any sort of rational or analytical thinking, and behave in a rather moody manner."
The irony of his statement was that it probably wasn't all that easy living with an obsessive-compulsive advisor to someone who was already wise in their own right. It was likely a case of Elrond giving a fellow Elf some measure of privacy to indulge in scholarly pursuits in a library and be a useful (and always available) sounding board. Or, at least, that's how it was when Erestor was asleep. When he was awake, these days, he was even more quiet than usual, and prone to contemplating things in silence for long periods of time. It was starting to interfere with his editing work, which was irritating to say the least.
Alice blinked. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you.”
"That's incredibly rude," chastised Erestor, in a suddenly snippish voice that was still soft and airy at the same time. "Not that it is any of your business but I am exceptionally pleased to state that I have, in fact, had relations with a girl while I was in college. We were quite fond of one another, but once college was finished, she went on to graduate school on the east coast, and I remained here, and we lost contact, as is oft prone to happen where long distance romances are concerned.
"Also, you haven't even properly introduced yourself, nor I to you, so it isn't polite to make such sudden and brash, not to mention blatantly incorrect, assessments of anyone else under such circumstances. And even more so when they are offering aid after you were assaulted by the useless writings of dead french poets. Now, do you have any other rude observations to make? If so, then I can leave you to pick up the books yourself, and go back to reading."
Listening to Erestor was like a hybrid cross between a high school principal, a nanny, and someone's gently nagging mother...if the mother had the patience of a saint and the air of a nun about to get slap happy with a ruler on some fingers.
“I’m Alice, and I take it back, are you sure you don’t have any kids?” She raised an eyebrow, putting the books back. “You’re … very paternal.”
"I'm Erestor and I apologize if I was overly rude in my response," he explained, now back to the picture of patience, as he straightened the books on the shelves. Once that was done, he looked at her like he was now more curious that she was still trying to be be observant, albeit incorrectly. "I do not. I'm very careful not to have any, as the idea is off-putting and the planet is, I believe, already over-crowded. I also find that children are incessantly messy and I do like my quiet time for literary pursuits."
Erestor raised his eyebrows up a little bit, while asking, "Do you have any children of your own?"
“So you just treat everyone else like they’re children?” She grinned at him and shook her head. “Nope, no kids. I’m too young. I might like them someday, but I always wanted to adopt them.” She looked to find another book, still looking around at other books.
"I do when they make brash assumptions," patiently corrected Erestor, his chin tilted up a little bit, eyebrows still raised up a smidge, though he didn't sound at all like he minded that she pointed that out. He wasn't offended at all, since it was true. It was hard to offend him unless it was a big blonde buffoon of an Elf who was blissfully not present. It suddenly occurred to Erestor that there were some good things in this world, after all. Not to mention, his assessment of Alice was bumped over into the positive side of the spectrum, which is better than the neutral zone or the negative banishment side of things. "Adopting seems more rational. At the very least, you can choose the age of the child, and it is doing someone some good, offering them opportunities at a stable family environment. Waiting as well is admirable, as it means you know your limitations at present and are leaving your options open, which is very wise of you."
Erestor liked things that seemed very wise and very rational. It's simply the way he rolls. If...he rolled...at all. Instead he was like a tortoise on sleeping pills, and rushing tended to make him very snappy, as he liked things slow and unfettered. It shows, dunnit?
“Or jokes. They’re also called jokes out here, things where one party tries to establish rapport with another party.” She would’ve lightly punched his arm had he been any other person, but he didn’t seem to be a very tactile kinda dude. “And I always thought adoption seemed rational, that way I’m not a slave to my genetics. I’m twenty-four, I barely know what I’m doing with my life much less how to help another person’s life progress without messing them up drastically.”
Erestor blinked with an utterly mild expression on his face. The word 'joke' registered as something people did for that laughing business, which he supposed offered some sort of emotional levity and relieved a burdensome feeling in one's fëa...soul...he meant soul. Not that other elvish thing. However, his way of doing things made him feel lighter when things were in order, alphabetized, color coded, post-it noted, right angled, and highly legible. So the entire 'joke' thing flew over his head like a metaphorical bird, never landed, didn't even shed a feather, and kept flapping its wings as it flew off into a proverbial sunset on the horizon. Followed by a tumbleweed rolling through the scene, accompanied by the sound of a lone cricket's chirp.
Instead, Erestor concentrated more on the part of what she said that registered as making sense to him. He suddenly appeared less young (as his appearance would suggest, he definitely was nowhere near 30 yet, not even close) and more of an old (stodgy) soul.
"I understand the 'slave to the genetics' portion of your surprisingly thoughtful regard to child rearing. We all have things that, I suppose, we would rather not pass on genetically to future generations. There is plenty of time to ponder over such matters, as you are quite young and therefore have the luxury of time, should fate not intervene with...say, for instance...an axe murderer, or you don't catch an infections and possibly deadly, terminal disease."
Anything was possible, after all. The world was a germ-ridden and dangerous place.
“Bloody axe-murderers. You have no idea how often they ruin my plans.” She grinned at him, wondering if he’d pick up on that joke. She doubted it.
Nope, he didn't. He arched one eyebrow up, slightly higher than the other one. Then he waited, as though he needed it explained how and why an axe-murderer would be interrupting enough to ruin any plans she had. Insert a whole metric butt ton of blinkingness, here.
"...oh, was that a joke?" Erestor suddenly inquired, followed by what looked to be his version (or attempt) at a smile. And then entire gesture went to crap when he nodded a little in that 'If you don't know what else to do, be polite and smile and nod' sort of way.
“It wa - wow, okay, no jokes with you. Um.” She blinked. “I’m Alice. I’d offer to shake your hand, but you’re not a touchy person, so you just keep picking out books, okay?” She had no idea what to do. How did one interact with someone who didn’t laugh? It looked like smiling had hurt him.
Oh, Erestor smiled. But it was usually when he was more comfortable, and this was a bit awkward.
"I know, since we've already introduced ourselves," Erestor patiently pointed out, with the air of one who wasn't going out of his way to try to insert a correction, but had somehow managed to do that, anyway. He didn't address the handshake mention, as that was very astute and absolutely correct. "You're needlessly nervous about the situation, as I'm simply not one of those...I suppose...'funny ha ha' type persons. I have been known to laugh, after all. But it's usually a rare occurrence, saved for those moments that I deem appropriate or deserving...."
Translation: It happens once in a blue moon.
"...were you looking for poetry books in particular or some other genre?" There. He moved the conversation along so as to not cause further discomfort.
She shook her head. “Not really. I usually just walk around until I know which book I need to buy. They just … tell me.” She winced to herself, knowing how hippie and airy fairy that sounded.
Actually, Erestor knew full well how that was. He didn't often go into bookstores with a set idea on what he would purchase, other than it was to be non-fiction and informational.
"I do the same thing," he replied, his voice lighter and he seemed much more at ease, because this was book-related conversation. "You often don't know until you've read the first few pages, if it's going to be interesting or not. Finding a good book takes time. What sort of things do you prefer to read?"
“Everything, really,” she chuckled. “I just finished a trashy romance novel and before that it was Proust.” She shrugged a shoulder. “If I’d gone to college, it probably would’ve been for some sort of book capacity?”
"Ahh, the concept of involuntary memory is fascinating," Erestor replied, and this time, he smiled. Really smiled, without a trace of being overly polite or an undercurrent of tension. "I don't read fiction, for personal enjoyment. And especially not trashy romance novels. I'm not one to condemn though, and whatever reading one does...voraciously, it seems, where you are concerned? Is good."
As he spoke, Erestor placed the book he had been reading back on the shelf with a reverence one would usually reserve for holy objects or precious artifacts. "I'm currently editing and fact checking text books, which I enjoy, but I was a librarian previously. I spend the majority of my days, reading and making editing changes."
“Lucky.” Alice wondered how someone could get into that line of work; she hated hers, but she didn’t really have any other skills. She was a good waitress, but to make waitressing what she did stripping, she’d have to work 80 hours a week. She enjoyed life way too much for that. “How’d you start?”
"College. My parents are also college instructors, and my mom happened to know a publisher she had lunch with a few times, so she put in a good word for me, and I had good references enough to start at a base level and work my way up from there." Erestor didn't sound at all proud or boastful about it, instead focusing on relaying the facts. "What is it that you do for a living?"
Normally Alice would pass off what she did by ducking it and flirting. But Erestor was someone who would miss what she was doing entirely, so there was no way to duck around at all. “I strip. Twenty hour work week, three grand take home. I hate it, but I do it because I’m a good little capitalist.”
Even though there was a brief moment of silence, he didn't so much as bat an eyelash in response.
"Your hours that you work would seem to allow you enough time, and finances, to put yourself back through school again. Then you would be able to engage in a career that you don't hate, and that isn't so limited due to the aging process. As much as one would like to imagine they will be young and pretty forever, that is sadly not so. Then you will be a capitalist who has no means of funding herself."
No word about taking clothes off and dancing around for a living.
“What do you mean again? I never went the first time.” She sighed sadly. “I still don’t know what career I want to engage in. Doubt I ever will.” She wanted to save people, but didn’t know how exactly.
"I would imagine you do have a high school diploma, or it's equivalent," Erestor pointed out with the utmost patience. "So if you have not attended, then you should be able to for a first time. If you don't possess either of those things, then you seem to have ample time to change your circumstances and perhaps then take some classes and find that which you would enjoy. Rather than bemoaning your situation, which you seem pessimistically inclined toward not changing."
“Barely.” She’d thought of dropping out, but she was only a month away. But she didn’t really feel like taking the advice of a guy who didn’t know what jokes were. Because really. Jokes weren’t hard, especially when she practically gave them away by smiling at the end.
Erestor was good at WISE advice, which often wasn't sarcastic or laughable, and was SRS BSNS. While done as politely as possible, it was often given like 'You can take it or leave it since it is up to your own better judgment...and if you trip and fall on your face, it's your own fault for not heeding warnings, et cetera.'
Because, really, some things...especially where one's life choices were concerned...were not joking matters.
"There's few things in this world that can not be changed through self-perseverance and discipline, but so many people lack both of those things, and thus they are resigned to failure. At the very least, you have much to consider and time yet to do so," Erestor was saying, his words slow and measured, as though he had thought out everything before he bothered speaking. "I hope you'll think on it further, and after some consideration, an answer should become apparent. Even if it was something that you haven't considered, before."
He left it to her to think upon.